Fanwork##
726 words
The faceless mien of the titan towering before the city hanged listlessly, its mottled flesh was crackled, dozens of fissures coursed through it, from his head bulging like an overripe fruit to his legs from which rivulets of lava bubbled. Greater wounds left gushes of the seating liquid splash around at each doddering step he took. His course forward was uncertain, almost wary.
Indeed as he closed on his apparent target, his pace slowed down, so concerned was he about the obstacle standing in his path. Standing ramrod straight in his way, like a lightning rod planted in the earth in order to spare Luseng from the storm coming toward it, Ulyssian waited. His lone figure radiated a palpable feeling of threat, the aura of dread surrounding him having gone past the intimidating countenance he offered ordinarily to the world, magnified as it was by his recent deeds.
To those standing on the walls, it did seem like dwarf and giant were about to meet in a clash whose end was inevitable, only it was not the Behemoth of titanic proportions who loomed far above the small Exalt. On the contrary. This was not lost on the beast, if it was not gifted with a human intelligence despite his humanoids features, it was not devoid of it. Beyond its initial rage, as the pain that fueled it dulled, deep seated instincts, gained through years upon years of war arose once more.
Shaped from the raw stuff of the Wyld, it was a living and somewhat sentient weapon, which had tasted almost all the flavors of conflict. It knew the language of war, that thing which transcended the barriers of species and spoke to anyone and anything, of matters universal, of life and death, suffering and pleasure. When power spoke, he heard. And raw might had spoken this day, once before, in the roaring tone of annihilation. Now, it was the rumble of a warning that reached his ears, the groan of a predator seeking to tame one of his lesser.
As he advanced, heedless of it, it rose suddenly in a clamor announcing the imminent retribution shall it pursue his course of action. This last warning took the form of a blitzing sweep of Ulyssian's hand, Ambition scything the air like a comet, its trailing tail burning an arc into the ground meters before the advancing beast. A line in the sand.
Toeing it triggered a painful answer that left the Behemoth stumbling back. In a flash of lightning Ulyssian had crossed the distance that separated them, appearing to hover before his face for a split second, delivering a punishing blow of the flat of his blade then fading back to his initial position. The angry lunge forward that followed was rewarded in the same manner, except the punishment was worse this time, as Ulyssian blurred forward, seemingly exploding in multiple reflection of himself that fused on the creature like a swarm of bees.
Cowed, the Behemoth retreated and tried to turn back only to suffer a similar treatment. Soon, as the scene repeated itself again and again, it let escape a keening sound which would have, perhaps, moved anyone who had not faced a burning death at its hands moments before. As it was, there was no mercy to offer it here and only cold practicality brought an answer to the creature's implicit question: others arcs were traced around him, the blitzing course of Ulyssian's rocketing form coming to an halt as they joined to form a circle around the Behemoth. Two swift tap upon the back of its knees indicated the way to go.
The Behemoth knelt. Not because of the pain of the bruises littering its body, of by fear of the ones to come. It was the restraint behind them which ultimately halted it, the control and the careful measure behind the strike which spoke of the apocalyptic strength kept in check but ready to be unleashed at a moment notice. The nature of a living weapon such as him was that, for some, achieving the task for which they were forged did not always supersede their yearning for life. He was a furnace destined to burn anything in its way, who had learned that fire could be extinguished even as it consumed its prey. If the flame could burn only slightly longer...
- - - -
Just in case Mastering it win, to help.
726 words
The faceless mien of the titan towering before the city hanged listlessly, its mottled flesh was crackled, dozens of fissures coursed through it, from his head bulging like an overripe fruit to his legs from which rivulets of lava bubbled. Greater wounds left gushes of the seating liquid splash around at each doddering step he took. His course forward was uncertain, almost wary.
Indeed as he closed on his apparent target, his pace slowed down, so concerned was he about the obstacle standing in his path. Standing ramrod straight in his way, like a lightning rod planted in the earth in order to spare Luseng from the storm coming toward it, Ulyssian waited. His lone figure radiated a palpable feeling of threat, the aura of dread surrounding him having gone past the intimidating countenance he offered ordinarily to the world, magnified as it was by his recent deeds.
To those standing on the walls, it did seem like dwarf and giant were about to meet in a clash whose end was inevitable, only it was not the Behemoth of titanic proportions who loomed far above the small Exalt. On the contrary. This was not lost on the beast, if it was not gifted with a human intelligence despite his humanoids features, it was not devoid of it. Beyond its initial rage, as the pain that fueled it dulled, deep seated instincts, gained through years upon years of war arose once more.
Shaped from the raw stuff of the Wyld, it was a living and somewhat sentient weapon, which had tasted almost all the flavors of conflict. It knew the language of war, that thing which transcended the barriers of species and spoke to anyone and anything, of matters universal, of life and death, suffering and pleasure. When power spoke, he heard. And raw might had spoken this day, once before, in the roaring tone of annihilation. Now, it was the rumble of a warning that reached his ears, the groan of a predator seeking to tame one of his lesser.
As he advanced, heedless of it, it rose suddenly in a clamor announcing the imminent retribution shall it pursue his course of action. This last warning took the form of a blitzing sweep of Ulyssian's hand, Ambition scything the air like a comet, its trailing tail burning an arc into the ground meters before the advancing beast. A line in the sand.
Toeing it triggered a painful answer that left the Behemoth stumbling back. In a flash of lightning Ulyssian had crossed the distance that separated them, appearing to hover before his face for a split second, delivering a punishing blow of the flat of his blade then fading back to his initial position. The angry lunge forward that followed was rewarded in the same manner, except the punishment was worse this time, as Ulyssian blurred forward, seemingly exploding in multiple reflection of himself that fused on the creature like a swarm of bees.
Cowed, the Behemoth retreated and tried to turn back only to suffer a similar treatment. Soon, as the scene repeated itself again and again, it let escape a keening sound which would have, perhaps, moved anyone who had not faced a burning death at its hands moments before. As it was, there was no mercy to offer it here and only cold practicality brought an answer to the creature's implicit question: others arcs were traced around him, the blitzing course of Ulyssian's rocketing form coming to an halt as they joined to form a circle around the Behemoth. Two swift tap upon the back of its knees indicated the way to go.
The Behemoth knelt. Not because of the pain of the bruises littering its body, of by fear of the ones to come. It was the restraint behind them which ultimately halted it, the control and the careful measure behind the strike which spoke of the apocalyptic strength kept in check but ready to be unleashed at a moment notice. The nature of a living weapon such as him was that, for some, achieving the task for which they were forged did not always supersede their yearning for life. He was a furnace destined to burn anything in its way, who had learned that fire could be extinguished even as it consumed its prey. If the flame could burn only slightly longer...
- - - -
Just in case Mastering it win, to help.
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